


Phoenix In A Gale

by Bloodredfirefly



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodredfirefly/pseuds/Bloodredfirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As a reminder to the rebels that their family's suffered alongside them, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the relatives of last year's tributes." And that's why Gale Hawthorn fought, forgave, loved and sort of lost his life in the 75th Hunger Games. It's how he fell for a career who was dangerous and cruel but honest and real. It's how a wild Phoenix got Caught in a Gale. Really, it leaves only one question. Are you scared of the fall?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoenix In A Gale

**Author's Note:**

> I am hoping I haven't messed up and written everything in the wrong boxes.... forgive me, I'm new to this awesome website.
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, I do not even own the roof over my head (der, I’m fourteen, I live with my parents). Therefore all rights and fortunately paperwork goes to Susan Collins and her bunch of editor guys/girls/alien freaks. So I am doing this for fun not profit, and yes, this counts for the entire fic. Happy? Perhaps not. I don’t care.**

### Sight of Day

The heat had come quickly this year, breathing into everything till it was impossible to keep your eyes open at midday, and sometimes you were so tired you fell asleep standing. Of course, I'm always tired now, tired of mining, tired of starving, tired of watching my family starve but unable to help in any way. Tired of watching Katniss and not knowing who she was anymore.

Actually exhausted is more descriptive, but I don’t have the energy to care about wording and grammar anymore, if I ever did. I laugh darkly to myself and then stop – after all, we’re under Romulus Thread’s leadership now, and anything can be against the law. I ache all over, I can barely move my arms, and my day is only about to get worse. A lot worse, if the rumours about the mandatory viewing are true.

Pushing my front door open, hungry eyes glanced quickly at me and away. Vick’s got a cough again, Rory’s school grade had halved and Posy was skin and bones. No-one had the energy to run and hug me anymore, and not even my mother’s small smile could help me. She looked as worn down as the rest of us, even as she cheerfully told us all to pile around the television, and passed round the water filled vegetable soup that was now our only food. Just because I’d eat anything doesn’t mean I don’t have any taste buds, and this tasted, well, foul.

The TV buzzed to life, and for a second, I was glad. This had nothing to do with the reaping or the Quarter Quell. The stage was different from ever before, covered in gaudy white bows, hearts and wedding rings. Then, of course, it clicked and I understood.

“Welcome, one and all, welcome! Oh, what a day Panem, what a day….” Caesar shakes his head theatrically, and I vaguely register that the crowd is cheering and that my family is frozen beside me. This is so much worse than I ever imagined. Caesar introduces Cinna, and they make a few bad jokes that the Capitol crowd eat up. Images of Katniss and Peeta flash onto the screens, of them kissing and smiling and waving and holding hands. And then they show the first wedding dress.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, at least. I didn’t care about the dresses, really, they’re just clothes, but whether it looks like Katniss, whether she looked happy to be there. It reminded me of the games, because her acting has always been awful and in every image, she couldn’t quite disguise her frown of annoyance. Her fingers were slightly curled as though she wished she was holding her bow and she kept on biting down on her cheek slightly, probably to keep from hurling something.

Only at the last dress did I falter, because it did look like Katniss. She had a half smile, as though someone had just said something she shouldn’t find funny but did, and was trying not to show it. She looked relaxed, calm, and free. Everything I’d always wanted for her. It was a harsh reminder that she was no longer, if she ever had been dependant on me. I wasn’t a real part of her life any longer.

But then I didn’t know her that well anymore, do I? I don’t know why she kissed me when I was on morphine, and I don’t know what she feels for Peeta. The Capitol might have made me her ‘cousin’, but I could never call her family now, not as much as before.

Finally the image of her in that dam dress disappeared, and Caesar thanked Cinna, and said something about voting. Because of course, the Capitol controlled everything and even the colour of Katniss’s earrings would be decided by them. The TV didn’t turn off though, instead Caesar gave the crowd a final smile, before announcing the one thing I’d been dreading would happen.

“Stay tuned for our own President Snow’s announcement, concerning the much loved Hunger Games – and this year’s Quarter Quell!” My heart sank. For a moment I thought the President was going to come onstage amidst all the gaudy pink ribbons, but they disappeared. They were projections, as were the other frills. The hanging pillars of fabric rippled, turning from white to copper and bronze colours, and the lighting dimmed. A hush fell over the crowd, and the camera flashed across, showing their awed, unnatural little faces looking up in wonder as President Snow appeared on stage.

Immaculate, indifferent and impersonal. Katniss had described him as smelling of blood and roses and I had to say I believe it – I half expect him to shed his skin and reveal scales underneath, complete with dripping, poisoned fangs. I could hear Hazelle whispering to Posy, my poor little sister having covered her eyes to hide from the future. But all children above the age of two had to watch and in every room, curtains had to be opened so peacekeepers could check on us. 

He started recounting the Dark Days, and how every twenty five years there was a glorified version of the games, and some twist or rule change was implemented. A boy in a white suit walked in and stood behind him, holding a simple wooden box. I couldn’t help but wonder who he was and how he got there, watched by all of Panem as part of the Quarter Quell – was he a relative of Snow’s, or just a random citizen, honoured to be part of the games?

“On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate the violence, every district was forced to hold and election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.” His voice vibrated across the stage, his head held high. Monster.

On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes.” Snow paused dramatically, or maybe he knew that everybody was green in the face from the information, shoulders hunched and throats tight. He motioned for the boy to step forwards and open the box, revealing dozens and dozens of cards. Plucking the one marked ‘75’, he read it without hesitation.

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their family’s suffered alongside them, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the relatives of last year’s tributes.”

Time stopped. On the screen, Snow was still smiling that grim smile, and around me, my family were still staring rigidly at him. But in my head, it was six months ago outside of the justice building with Capitol freaks telling me I was to be Katniss’s cousin, and me wondering if I’d ever look at birds the same way again, because the man had long, brightly coloured feathers instead of hair. Only seconds ago I was thinking about how I’d been made Katniss’s relative – and now her relatives were going in to the games.

Then time began to make sense again and everyone started talking. Posy didn’t understand, asking mum insistent questions as she tried to fend her off. We locked eyes and I could see that she also realised we were ‘cousins’ – and no doubt, the others would soon understand as well. We did not hide things from our family, mum would tell them. I indicated my head to the door once before giving Rory the look. I was a hunter and a leader and a bread winner. But Rory was the one who, when mum and I were so exhausted we couldn’t even talk, would comfort the younger pair and keep a smile on his face.

If there was anything my brother had taught me, it was there were different kinds of strength and even though Rory didn’t have the strength to walk into the woods unarmed, he had the strength to be cheerful even when cold and hungry and afraid. So when I gave him the look, he immediately peeled Posy away from our mum and started distracting her and Vick.

As soon as I was out of the door, I doubled over. I felt like I was about to be sick, my insides tying complex knots and my head pounding. I could hardly breathe, and I dimly understood that Rory was also a cousin – so also eligible for the reaping. But I would never let that happen, never. I would not allow one cut on his skin if I could prevent it.

“Son? Are you alright?” Warm hands touched my back, and I tried not to flinch. Months, it had been months but I was still sore on my whip marks. I pulled up, trying to scrape together some of my normal composure, and gave my mum a tired smile.

“Fine. You know Rory and I are going in, right?” It scared me how bleak I sounded but she just nodded, tears in her eyes. She still stood up straight though, the toughest woman I knew.

“Yes. But Peeta’s a townie, so even though his brothers are too old for the reaping he’ll have cousins and things. They are inbred after all. It isn’t certain you’ll go in, not by a long shot sweetie.” A small smile flickered across my face at that.

“Sweetie? What am I, six?”

“Eighteen is still my little boy, Gale. Now go, talk to Katniss, and stay away from Peeta. Seriously Gale, no fighting or I’ll come up there myself and -”

“Yes, yes I get the picture.” I smile at her, then lean down to kiss her forehead and hug her tight. After a few moments we can hear Posy screaming for her. Even Rory can’t keep her quiet for long these days, she’s too hungry and too scared.

Mum chuckles and we break apart, her disappearing back into the little hut we call home. With one last look back, I jog my way up the streets and through the town, avoiding any form of lights, running swift but silent till I get to Victors Village, all the way across town. Peacekeepers don’t come here so I walk freely through the main road, arriving at the beautiful houses that are Peeta, Katniss’s and Haymitch’s.

For a moment, I dither. Katniss is my best friend but Haymitch is my mentor, or will be. After all, I have forty eight slips including Rory’s, and the townies only have one per year. If the odds weren’t in my favour when there were thousands and thousands of slips in that bowl, now they’re a pure death sentence.

But Katniss’s door opens and the girl herself comes quickly running down the steps. Automatically I open my arms and hug her, not romantically but the way it’s always been, friends who risk their necks together and share everything they have. Well, the way it was.

Pulling away sharply, I nod to her and we make our way up the steps and through the open front door. Prim and Mrs Everdeen are in the kitchen but Katniss walks right through to the living room where Haymitch are Peeta are waiting, there jaws locked and eyes hard.

“Long last kid, we were starting to think you weren’t coming.” Says Haymitch. As always, a drink is in his hand, and it smells like the strong stuff.

“Yeah, it’s funny how time slips away from you when you’re contemplating your impending doom. My apologies for the inconvenience.” I reply, because I really don’t have time for an old drunk, not right now.

“You watch your tongue boy or you’re going to die fast in these games,” Haymitch starts, though I can tell that the hard look in his eyes has nothing to do with cruelty and everything to do with self-preservation. This is just his back up plan when he can’t get his hands on any drink, play mean.

“Haymitch,” Peeta interrupts, and I spin my head round to look at him. I blink stupidly at him for a second, but a blind man couldn’t miss the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Gale’s got enough problems as it is, without any arguments. We’ve all agreed to help him, so let’s stick to it for more than two minutes shall we?”

“Help me? But why would you want to help me? Your family-”

“This is my family. My brothers, my dad, I live with them and I care for them. But further than that I’m not close to anyone.” Peeta explains. Seeing my confused expression he smiles tightly. “Blood isn’t as important for me, Gale. The joy of being a townie is that being family doesn’t grant you automatic loyalty, and you break bonds easily when they’re made only by a family tree. I’m not really that human to them anymore – we’re bakers; they can’t accept that I’ve killed people because none of them have ever had to fight for their lives like I have. ”

I don’t know what to say, but Katniss speaks for me, dancing forwards and wrapping her arms around him, kissing him gently without saying anything. I look away, because though I knew already that they’re lovers, not just pretending but for real, it still hurts. Not as much as when I still thought there could be something between Katniss and I, but painful, still painful.

“Katniss, Peeta, please come back to the present before I lose my drink. I have barely enough alcohol as it is, I don’t feel like chucking it up this early in the evening,” Haymitch grumbled, being sober had certainly made him a lot more unenthusiastic. Katniss broke away, looking back at him with a disgusted look on her face.

“Nice, Haymitch, nice.” She said, before sitting next to Peeta on the sofa. Taking the only remaining seat, a squishy armchair, we sat in awkward silence for several moments. Katniss hesitated for a second, and then being Katniss, went through with it anyway.

“We know your name will probably get reaped. We can only hope for Prim, her odds are better and Peeta has eight girl cousins of reaping age, so we’re just going to hope. A few are even taking out tesserae. But we want to – to train, you know, like Careers.”

“Weapons, you mean? Spears, swords – we can’t get that sort of stuff here. Can we?” I asked, bewildered. Even before the Peacekeepers, we would never have been able to get weapons like that.

“Yes you can, if you have my contacts.” Haymitch said gruffly, eyes on his drink. “And there’s more to training than that, Peeta’s agreed to point out his cousins to you so you can understand their weaknesses. And we need to watch the previous games together, take in the details.”

I look round at their faces. I had made war with them, tried to drag Katniss back to the seam and been generally as awkward as I could. I partly wouldn’t accept Katniss just giving me her winnings because then she wouldn’t have a reason to hunt with me, and I could never let her have her life with Peeta as she deserved to. I have no words to thank them with. I can only think of sarcasm.

“Well then. Looks like the odds just became a little more in my favour.”

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N: FINALLY. This has been on the drawing board now for, oh six months, seven? I’ve done lots of planning. Now, I know this is…. Unorthodox. Rebellious. But hey, a girls gotta do what a girls got a do.**
> 
> **Please read, review, be honest and yes, you may message me with death threats if I don’t update at least every week. This fic is slow, and it’s not entirely canon either. My apologies for the wreck I made of Haymitch above by the way, it’s his fault, he’s too much of a stubborn drunk, he refuses to be written.**
> 
> **A massive thanks to my planning beta, Nullumstiamdictum from fanfiction.net who is the sole reason Gale didn’t trip and crack his head on the podium steps. Yep, she's wonderful.**


End file.
